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by Convenient Alias
Summary: Gatsby buys Daisy a dress. Daisy likes it and doesn't like it. Oneshot.


A week or so into their whirlwind love affair (or at least, their second whirlwind love affair), Gatsby bought Daisy a dress. It was fashionable, certainly. The sort of fashion Jordan wore more than Daisy—Jordan was always the daring one, and Tom preferred Daisy to act a little more demure now that she was a married woman—but that Daisy had always admired from a distance. A little more risqué than Daisy was used to, a little bolder and less elegantly tailored. Daisy had always wondered whether she could pull that kind of thing off.

Gatsby was convinced that she could.

"I read the latest fashion magazines and I talked to a consultant," he said. "I almost went to the same man who buys my shirts—he's an expert, you know—but I figured it was better to go to someone who knew more about women's things. This is the latest. I thought it would suit your figure, too."

It was a bright green dress, not amazing for Daisy's complexion, and the neckline dropped a little bit low, and the skirt was above Daisy's knees. Was this how Jay had pictured the dress fitting on her? Turning around and around in the mirror, Daisy half supposed that he would laugh when he saw her, and then she would put back on her old dress, which sparkled and fit her well but dropped fully to her ankles and was thoroughly Tom-approved.

But when she emerged from the room (and yes, she had changed in private because Gatsby, despite the intimacy their relationship had already taken on, was an utter prude), he gave her a long, solemn gaze, and although he smiled, he did not laugh.

"Well?" Daisy asked, still feeling a little foolish. "What do you think?"

"I think," Gatsby said. "I'd like to take you dancing." He walked over to her and gently took her hands in his. Smiling, she allowed him to spin her in a circle.

"You're very childish," she said. Though it never bothered her, that he always acted so very young. Tom acted young too, but with him it was tantrums and carelessness, whereas Gatsby was all whimsical hot-blooded affection and no one could resent him for that.

"I think," Gatsby continued. "I'd like to take you to a picture show, or out on a cruise." He ended the spin by pulling her into his arms, her back warm against his chest, his arms circled around her waist. "I think I'd like to dance with you at one of my parties, and show you to the world."

Daisy stiffened. "Jay."

He laughed lightly, and let her pull away from him. "Not yet. I know." He stepped back. "Only you have to understand that it's very hard to keep a secret as exciting as you."

Not yet. He always said it that way—not yet. It came naturally to him, assuming their love affair was permanent and that someday, everyone in the world would have to accept the fact that they were meant to be together. Daisy shook her head. She could not return the sentiment.

It was a good day, that one. Nick came over briefly and flattered Daisy's dress greatly before fading away, claiming he didn't want to intrude even though he'd been showing up more and more regularly (and it wasn't like anyone minded). There were oysters for dinner, well buttered oysters with a salad and champagne. It was always champagne with Gatsby lately, even though it was rather expensive. When she asked why, he laughed and said he'd been storing it up for a time when he had cause to celebrate.

She didn't stay the night because she'd stayed the night before and even Tom would get suspicious eventually. So Gatsby kissed her goodbye very tenderly, prolonging the moment as much as he could, and escorted her out to a private car.

"Thank you again for the dress," she said. "I don't know if I'll be able to wear it at home—Tom might notice something different." It wasn't like her usual at all. "It is very beautiful."

"You are very beautiful," Gatsby said. He kissed her again, because even though he'd claimed to have kissed her for the last time that night he was always breaking those kinds of promises. "Don't wear it for Tom. He wouldn't appreciate it, certainly. But someday, I will buy you all the most beautiful dresses in New York—no, in the world—and every man will worship you, and every girl will long to be you. Not that they shouldn't already," he added hastily, as if afraid that even in his ridiculous romantic wanderings he might somehow have caused offense.

Daisy shook her head. "You are off in your dreams again."

"Dreams can become reality."

"What, you want us to be the king and queen of New York?"

Gatsby smiled awkwardly. She kissed him because it was so rarely that she saw him awkward. And because she knew she had hit the nail on the head.

Delusions of grandeur? Of course. He was Jay, after all, and had been far too ambitious and ludicrous even when they had first met. Still, boldness suited him. It was in the way he dressed: those expensive, tailored suits and shirts in every color imaginable, many of them pink. Any other man would have looked like they were trying too hard to get attention, to stand out from the crowd. Yet on Gatsby, they fit perfectly. He still looked aloof. Cool.

"Like the advertisement of a man," she decided on the car ride back to East Egg. "Wear this pink suit and you, too, can become the host of extravagant parties and drink champagne with every meal." Silly, of course. No one could ever be another Jay Gatsby. But she had met many men who tried to be something similar, noveau riche attempting the grandeur of an old family. Gatsby alone could own it, transform it, become an idol both flamboyant and genuine at the same time. He could wear a scarlet shirt like a prince because he was convinced that, while wearing the scarlet shirt, a prince he was. And by giving her an emerald green dress that matched his laughable fashion sense, he somehow supposed he could turn her into his fairy princess.

Here was where it fell apart, of course. Daisy was still Daisy, and still a Buchanan, no matter what she was wearing. Still, before she undressed that night, she allowed herself a moment in front of the mirror and imagined herself as the advertisement of a woman. Wear the green dress and find the love of your life after years of heartbreak. Wear the green dress and you too can be the belle of the ball, the master of your man's heart. And he will never leave you, and you will always be enough for him, and there won't be any inconvenient husbands or daughters to get in your way.

With a sigh, she changed into her night gown, but she hung the dress up neatly in her closet. No doubt Gatsby would want to see it on her again sometime, even though it really did not suit her at all.

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AN: So somehow I ended up writing...Daisy/Gatsby fluff.

Idk man. Idk.


End file.
